


Shut Up and Dance With Me

by ChubbinLovin (TinyBibliophile)



Series: Coming Home to You [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Belly Fucking, Belly Kink, Chubstuck, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Fatstuck, Homestuffed, NSFW, Porn with Feelings, Weight Gain, fat kink, obligatory clubbing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 04:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14866860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBibliophile/pseuds/ChubbinLovin
Summary: You're home for the summer, and what better way to kick off the start of the vacation than a night on the town? Drinks, dancing, shitty karaoke and chub abound!





	Shut Up and Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'M ALIVE. It's been a fucking while, but my mood to write this shit is so temperamental. So yeah. Have some garbage. <3
> 
> Also. Some very minor angst and feelings and shit because deep down in my salty husk of a kinky thirst-monster, I'm sappy as fuck.

Music thrummed with a heavy bass, neon lights flaring from inside the nightclub. You could practically feel the rhythmic pounding even from down the street. You held Dave’s warm, soft hand tightly, grinning sideways at him. He returned the smile fondly. The two of you were joined by good old Designated Driver Dirk. Every clubbing couple needed a third wheel, after all, and Dirk hadn’t had a drink since a bad incident with some kind of tequila hellspawn his sophomore year of college. You and Dave, on the other hand, definitely intended to make your fair share of poor-but-fun life decisions.

You were dolled up to the nines and dressed in your best club-worthy clothes. When you’d first showed up on the Strider’s doorstep, Dave looked at you like some kind of movie star. Of course, he didn’t look too shabby himself. His hair was styled in that messy-chic kind of way, framing his full face in a rather flattering way. He wore nice, black jeans that fit him snugly (but what didn’t, really?) and a soft, red t-shirt under a short-sleeved, plaid button up. Both clung to his frame and hugged his arms, even if just a tad. Dirk looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, but in that annoyingly charming way that seemed to be the Strider’s patron blessing.

The three of you offered up your I.D’s and paid your cover before entering the club. You and Dave immediately headed for the bar, paused momentarily by Dirk’s dull shout of warning: “If I have to scrape your wide load off the dance floor and drag your drunk ass home I’m gonna be pissed.” Dave flipped him off with a characteristic smirk. When he’d first started putting on weight, Dirk had been kind of an ass about it: nagging him to get his act together, hiding his junk food, that kind of thing. Of course his intentions had been good. He just wanted his brother happy and healthy. Now that he’d proven those two things to be true, Dirk laid off… for the most part. He still couldn’t resist getting the occasional jab in.

As for you? Well. There was an unspoken understanding of that whole situation, including the role you’d played in Dave’s now 350+ body weight. You decided it best to leave it unspoken.

Dave was glad to treat you to your first drink of the night. You merely asked for the strongest “pussy-drink” they had, and they certainly didn’t disappoint. It was like sipping on a soda pop, so much so you almost forgot what would happen if you didn’t pace yourself. “Easy there,” Dave chuckled, looping a thick arm around your waist and kissing your temple. “Despite the taste, there IS alcohol in that.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” you laughed back, jabbing his plush belly with your elbow. He was already finished with his first generous beverage, a rum and coke.

“This _hypocrite_ doesn’t have the tolerance of a two-year-old,” he retorted simply, already ordering another. You saw the signs though. Wetting his lips, his hands fidgeting in and out of his pockets. He was anxious and, you expected, more than ready to get himself too drunk to notice. The club was crowded, and he… took up a lot of space compared to the other patrons. Not even ten minutes in and people were already glancing at him. At the two if you.

It wasn’t your prerogative to lecture him. If having a bit to drink would make him more comfortable, loosen him up so he could have a good time, you were perfectly fine with that. Still, you gave his arm a squeeze, fingers dipping deep into warm skin, and prompted him to look at you. Nothing was said, but you both understood: they didn’t matter. In five minutes they wouldn’t even care. His drinking pace slowed, actually taking the time to enjoy the bitter-sweet burn and the bubbly texture. You stood together against the bar, ignoring the few curious looks pointed your way. Anyone who stared too long was met with your best dagger-glare, and they moved on to be a dick somewhere else.

Within half an hour you were starting to feel the buzz. Your head was lighter, your inhibitions lower, and your libido on the rise. Pinching Dave playfully on the love handle, he jumped a bit before raising an eyebrow quizzically at you. You jerked your head towards the dance floor, and he swallowed thickly. He ordered one more drink and knocked it back in record time, then offered a thumbs-up. You snorted a little in laughter, and dragged him out there by the wrist.

The two of you hadn’t danced together since Senior Prom, back when he had the body of a Chip and Dale dancer and you were totally oblivious to his affections; you’d gone as friends and danced like dorks, but there had been that _one_ slow dance. The one that really cemented how you felt about him. You ached to dance with him again, plush and warm and thick as he was now. He was hesitant, barely moving while you swayed your hips and batted your lashes at him.

“It’s-… it’s been a while,” he laughed nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck, and you rolled your eyes.

“Forget everything,” you told him, raising your voice to be heard over the music. “Just watch me.”

“Done and done.”

And he _was_ watching. Maybe it was the booze fogging your mind, but the way he stared at you, followed the movements of your curves with his eyes, made you tingly and warm right down to your core. You finally got tired of waiting for him. You took his hands and pulled him close, placing his palms firmly on your backside. His cheeks glowed red under the flashing pink and green lights as he gripped your rear firmly, his lips parting in shock and awe. You pressed into him, guiding his hips with yours and holding tight to his body, namely the squishy sides of his muffin top. His teeth gnawed at his lip, his brows pinching together in suppressed pleasure as you sank your nails in, soon knuckle-deep in thick fat. Shivering, he finally seemed to get the message. That, or the alcohol was finally kicking in.

You spun around, your arms reaching backwards to loop up around his neck. The way his fat stomach melded against the curve of your spine made you sigh blissfully. You thought that if his thick overhang of a gut wasn’t in the way, you’d have felt something ELSE against your back. He gripped your hips firmly, buried his face in your hair, and continued to rock his hips. “I need to buy you booze more often,” he panted hotly against your ear. You weren’t sure if he was breathless from dancing, or from the undeniably risque way you were doing so. Either way, it didn’t matter. You loved it.

The song eventually changed to less of a bump n' grinder and more of an upbeat, poppy tune. Against your body’s more primal wishes, you separated and the two of you danced a little more casually. You quickly grew fond of this too, though, now able to watch every sexy shake and jiggle of his body from even the slightest movement. “You’ve still got it!” you encouraged with a blithe laugh, and he grinned, a bit sheepish but thankful all the same.

He’d always been a good dancer. Anything to do with music seemed to come easily to him, really. Sure, he was a bit rusty and less confident than he’d once been… but it made him seem so much more human, rather than the flawless Adonis you'd once assumed him to be. The guy you were always so sure would never be within your reach. It was enough to give you butterflies and turn your heart to butter.

You weren’t sure how long you two danced, but eventually you both began to tire. Him much more visibly, but even you were out of breath and breaking a sweat. After one more drink each, you decided to hunt down Dirk and get ready to leave. Once out to the car, a thought came to mind; you weren’t ready to go home yet.

“Karaoke anyone?”

Dirk was amicable enough, having no plans the next morning. Dave, even intoxicated, hesitated.

“Come on, please?” you begged, nuzzling into the soft mound of his shoulder as you both sat in the back. “You know you have a great voice.”

“We’ll go, but I’m not getting up and singing in front of a bunch of drunk douche bags.”

Yes he was. You would make sure of it.

The drinks kept coming once you got to the karaoke bar. You decided to take it slow and just keep your buzz going. Dave, on the other hand, needed a bit of a reminder not to overdo it, his nerves seeming to come back with a vengeance. The three of you sat crowded together at a round table; Dave took up a third of it on his own, and you were just glad those tiny chairs didn’t have arms, for his sake. Otherwise there was no way in hell his broad ass would have fit.

At some point, Dave excused himself to the restroom, and you seized your opportunity. Double taking to make sure Dave was gone, you turned to Dirk. “Can I ask a favor?”

“If you and Dave are gonna fuck when we get back, don’t expect me to just conveniently need to run an errand at two in the morning so you can have some ‘privacy.’”

“No, it's not- I mean, we probably will, but-”

“Gross, moving on.”

“Look, I just want him to let loose and have a little fun tonight.”

“I think he’s ' _let loose'_ plenty,” Dirk retorted evenly, though he definitely wasn’t talking about that night’s activities. “Thanks for encouraging that, by the way.”

There was a bit of an edge to his voice, and that made you sober up a bit. Your brows dipped softly as you frowned. “Seriously?” you asked sternly. “You’re gonna go there?”

“Why shouldn't I? You broke his heart once already,” Dirk paused to sip from his glass of water, “when you left for college. He’s been more vulnerable since then than he ever has been, and if you’ve just been screwing with him with all this weird shit you’ve gotten him into-”

“Okay, no. Shut it. FYI, I haven’t forced him to do _anything_ … if you think I’m just using him for some sick fantasy than you can flat-out get fucked.” He seemed moderately surprised by your intensity, a pale brow raising a bit. “I love Dave. I have practically forever, and I would never hurt him. So fuck you for thinking that I would.”

At first Dirk said nothing. Rather than accept or deny your insistence he just breathed a small sigh and said this: “What do you want?”

“I want Dave to go up and sing something. I know he loves to sing, but he almost never does it. And he’s so good too.”

He seemed to consider this, looking over at the DJ booth. There was a signup sheet where you wrote your name and what song you wanted to sing. “I’ll take care of it.” He got up and made his way over to the booth, and you watched as he scribbled something down on the sign up sheet. He came back just before Dave returned, none the wiser. Neither of you said anything about your prior exchange.

A few more songs played out before the announcer said this: “Next up… Dave and (Y/N), singing a duet. Come on up.”

You could’ve punched Dirk in the nose. He looked way too pleased with himself and his little trap: if Dave had to sing, so did you. You didn’t think you were a _terrible_ singer, but you were certainly no Celine Dion. Definitely nowhere near as good as Dave. Still, you called his bluff. “C'mon,” you asked Dave, as if you'd been the one to sign the both of you up. “You’re not gonna make me go up by myself, are you?”

His cheeks red as cherries, he huffed a little and started to heave himself out of his seat. “I’ll get you back for this.”

You were sure he would somehow, but little did he know that you getting up onstage was more than enough payback. Still, it was only fair, you supposed. Even if you looked like fools, at least you’d look like fools together. And you were just drunk enough not to care either way. When you reached the little mini-stage, you picked up your mics and the song started up. Instantly you recognized Don’t Stop Believing, by  Journey. You repressed a laugh.

Dave actually really liked this song too, no matter how “ironic” he insisted his fondness for it was… you knew, because he’d admitted to you once that “cheesy, overplayed 80’s music” was one of his many guilty pleasures. And this was about as cheesy, overplayed, and 80's as it got. At least it was something you knew well enough to bull shit your way through, even if those high notes might've very well been the death of you.

His part was first and just hearing him start to sing, uncertain as he sounded to start, was enough to make you melt a little bit. He seemed to remember your advice from the club: _forget everything. Just watch me._ He looked at you like you were the last person on Earth, and by the time it got to your turn to chime in on "Just a city boy," you felt as if it was only the two of you in existence. Now that you were singing too, he seemed to relax a little and open up. The more confident he felt, the better he sounded and the more beautiful he looked. Eventually you were both grinning while you sang together, harmonizing poorly but not even caring. To everyone else in the bar it was just another goofy drunk couple having a good time, but to the two of you it felt like magic.

Your mission had been accomplished. The two of you turned in your microphones and returned to the table. However, before you could even sit down, Dirk was rising and shaking his car keys. “Alright kids,” he drawled, “play time’s over. Designated Driver’s beat.” You were fine with that. The sooner you got back to the Strider abode, the sooner you could lose yourself in Dave’s plump, perfect body. You all piled into the car, the two of you sitting in the back seat together, and began the trek back home. Barely fifteen minutes into the trip, Dave had started to doze off, his hand clasping yours as his head lolled back against the seat. Confident that he was passed out, you looked at Dirk’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

“That was a dirty trick,” you chuckled wryly, testing the waters. Were you two cool now? You hoped you were cool.

He shrugged, but you could see the hint of a smirk in the mirror. “It worked didn’t it?” You hummed in approval, but a pregnant silence filled the air. Finally, he spoke up again. “… I knew it would. He loves that song. And he’d do anything to make you smile.”

You blushed softly, looking at him again in the mirror, then at Dave and back again. Even behind his sharp shades, you knew he was avoiding your eyes. “He thinks the world of you. I hope you know that. Since you two were just snot-nosed brats he’s pined after you, trying to impress you and just hoping…” He trailed off, sighing deeply. “You didn’t have to watch him deteriorate after you left, then when he started putting on all that weight. He missed you so much, and he felt like he’d blown his shot with you for good. It was hard to see him like that.

“When you came back for Christmas and everything was suddenly hunky dory again, it seemed too good to be true. Then he started getting heavier and heavier and I just knew the two of you hooking up had something to do with it. Do all the weird kinky shit you want; it's none of my business. But… look, lemme just put it this way: you said you loved him, right? Well so do I. So just promise to take good care of my brother.”

The sentiment warmed your heart. More than that, it hit you hard how much Dave must’ve missed you, if Dirk’s perspective was to be trusted. And of anyone’s, his was probably the most honest. The most truthful. You’d never realized, never even thought that he could’ve been in such a state as that. During your calls and your video chats, he’d always seemed so… normal. You cast a glance at Dave, breathing deeply and just barely snoring. With a fond smile, you snuggled closer to his side and looked at Dirk in the mirror again. “I promise I will.”

He nodded briefly. “I’ll hold you to it. I’m not saying ya’ll have to sound the wedding bells or anything crazy like that. Shit happens. People break up.” You didn’t even want to imagine it. “Just… be good to him.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, nothing else needing to be said. Eventually Dirk flipped on the radio just to fill the void, but aside from that the only sound you noted was the wind outside the car and Dave’s peaceful noises of sleep. You shook him awake once you reached the house, gently pinching and patting his rounded cheeks until he blearily blinked his eyes open.

“Alright,” Dirk said as he shut off the car engine and unbuckled. “I’m gonna go to my room. I’m gonna put on some headphones. I’m gonna blast some music. You two have an hour.”

The insinuation turned Dave’s face was rose-red by the time Dirk climbed out of the car and shut the door. You just snickered. “Can you really blame him?” you asked, unbuckling and climbing halfway onto his lap. “You don’t think you can dance like that and melt my heart with your fucking angel’s voice and get away with it, do you?”

He didn’t have a chance to answer, nor reciprocate, his mouth dry and an eager little smile working its way onto his full, saliva-slick lips. A sharp knock on the window startled you both, and you turned to see Dirk shaking his head and gesturing avidly for you to get out of the car. Rolling your eyes and stifling an amused laugh, you crawled off of him and climbed out. Dave fumbled his way free of the seatbelt and scooted somewhat gracelessly out of his seat. It was a bit of an effort for him to get to his feet, the car actually rocking a bit with the movement, but he managed. He was tipsy and sleepy and horny and so were you. So with a sarcastic little salute to Dirk, you and Dave made your way to his bedroom like a couple of mischievous, scampering kids about to go Trick or Treating.

He barely had time to shut and lock the door before you attacked him with a tight hug, burying your face in his pillowy breasts. By then they were bigger than yours, and you weren't sure if you were jealous, aroused, or just plain impressed by that fact.

Then, before you could get to enamored with his body, you couldn’t help but recall all Dirk had told you, the knowledge gnawing at your brain. “I love you,” you told him earnestly, looking deeply into the wall of his mirror-shades and searching for his eyes. He seemed surprised by this sudden change of mood, but he smiled adoringly down at you. That made clear,you allowed your hands to snake up under his shirt, your wrists getting lost between his folds as you held him tightly. “I love you so. Fucking. Much.”

He returned the hug and the sentiment, touching his forehead to the crown of your head and breathing in your scent. Then he lifted you up by the backs of your thighs, balancing your body against his bulk as he grinned at you; you snatched his pesky shades and tossed them aside, adoring his glittering, ruby eyes. “We only have an hour,” he groaned against your neck, sending vibrations through the sensitive skin and making you shiver.

“So little time,” you agreed as he carried you over to the bed and laid you on your back. “Just thinking about your dancing has me all tingly inside.” You held his love handles tightly, shaking them and making his huge belly quake against your body. “All sexy and jiggly. Your ass should be outlawed.” If only you could reach it.

He breathed a shuddering sigh, both your words and your physical affections making his eyes go hazy with want. “You’re one to talk,” he huffed breathlessly as he leaned in to nuzzle and kiss and nip your neck lovingly. With every movement, every lean, shift, and press, the marshmallowy padding of his body molded around you like fleshy memory foam. You moved your hands to his shoulders, gently urging him back just enough so you could sit up and start peeling off his outer shirt, then tug upwards on the hem of the snug tee underneath. The way his hips spilled out over the taut waistband of his jeans was ungodly.

In a whirlwind of motion, you practically tackled him onto his back, barely able to properly straddle the impressive width of his belly as you licked your lips and stared desperately into his eyes. His expression was priceless. Surprise, arousal, and an odd, hopeful kind of timidness melded together on his soft, round face, his eyes dilated wide with desire. His lips parted as if to speak, but were unable to form words. That was fine.

As you mashed your mouth roughly against his, he moaned deeply, his hands fumbling to find your rear and guide you into a soft, slow grind. In lame man’s terms, you were fucking his gut. And good god was it heavenly. Your knees squeezed together against his bare belly, squashing the malleable flesh as you sensually bit and sucked on his plump, sweet lips.

“Ohh, fuck~,” you keened, your voice muffled against his mouth. Now he was trying desperately to find the hem of your top, but his hands were shivery and clumsy with a mixture of intoxication and lust. You sat up, making something of a show of stripping off your shirt and unhooking your bra before pressing back down into him. His warm skin, just barely slick with sweat, melded with yours, almost like your _bodies_ were kissing. You kept rutting your hips into the fat padding of his stomach, and you wondered briefly if he was even getting any real friction of it. With one especially hard thrust, the loud gasp-moan that he emitted assured you that he was.

“Enjoying yourself?” you cooed with delight as you leaned back again, this time for a better vantage point of his pitiful face and his rhythmically rippling body.

He nodded, his double-chin wobbling cutely. “My- fffuck, my gut’s so huge that it…” He swallowed thickly and took a moment to catch his desperate breaths. “Nng, it’s getting me off, just you shifting it around like that. And my jeans are so _tight_ …”

Apparently you weren’t the only one fucking his belly, in a sense. The idea itself sent a jolt down your spine and a throb through your abdomen. God, you wanted to see. Later. Once you both finished. Panting softly now, you let your body sink fully into his again, still ramming your hips back and forth into his thick tummy. Just to help put him over the edge, you tilted your head and sought out his endowed breast with your hand. It was a careful maneuver, shifting just enough to reach his wide nipple with your mouth while still staying in prime belly-fucking position.

As you circled your tongue around the dark ring, prodding the center bud teasingly, he outright whimpered with want. Then you fit as much of his silky-soft moob as you could into your mouth and began to bite and suck. His whole body ricocheted like an earthquake had struck as he came, huffing out your name over and over and over again. You rutted harder, faster, just to make sure his finish made him see stars. His breath heaved as he started to come down, wetting his lips and blinking dreamily as he watched you rock back and forth in order to come yourself. Your spine straightening, you shuddered delightfully as you finished and all but collapsed into his plumpness.

His arms wrapped around you, and your hands roamed to slip in and out from under the folds of his stomach, prodding and pressing the yielding flesh. Then you wriggled downwards, prompting him to raise his eyebrow at you. He was right. His muffin top was big enough to completely cover his crotch-area, even while laying down. Experimentally, you lifted the fold and kneaded it in your hands, making him squirm and the bed groan under his weight. He already took up almost the entire width of the twin-sized mattress now, leaving little room for you to sleep on… you supposed he’d have to be your mattress instead.

Continuing to experiment with his muffin top with one hand, the other roamed down to his straining fly and traced the outline of his dick. He trembled and sighed as you let your hand get lost between his thick, warm thighs. “Jesus christ,” you breathed, letting his fat fold drop back down against his lap and mushing into it with the side of your face. “Your such a fatass~. I can’t believe this bed is still standing.”

He groaned softly, combing through your hair with his pretty, chubby fingers. The groan turned to a hitch in his breath when you sank your teeth slowly, sensually into the thickest part of his gut. Your hands held the sides of his belly and shook it roughly, making it ripple like jell-o. As you looked up, you paused and delighted in the fact that you could barely see his eyes over the doughy mound of flesh.

“Think we have time for one more?” he asked slyly, his pink cheeks bunching together with his yearning smile.

“Fuck an hour,” you huffed, “I could keep at this all night long.”

**Author's Note:**

> If ya'll think Dirk is getting through this thing without his skinny-boi shit getting absolutely fucking WRECKED, you've got another thing coming.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for more shenanigans of this nature: chub-game-so-strong


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